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The Hangman

Darkness, the hands are looking for the guts,
lungs,
nose
and eyes.

Closed eyes, hands look out for a voice.

Man dies.
The head is spinning on the floor,
in a dead beat.

But it is,
inert.

Style / type: 
Structured: Eastern
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

Good depiction.

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